The Walking Dead-Survivor Chronicles
by TOkun92
Summary: Chronicles of various survivors in The Walking Dead Universe.
1. Jake

**The Walking Dead:**** Survivor Chronicles**

**Jake**

Jake walked in the forest, avoiding any Walkers and people. His grey backpack weighed considerably on his back, but compared to the pain and guilt he had about his baby brother, it was nothing. It had been one month since he killed him; he could still hear the Walkers pounding at the door, slowly tearing it apart. They would have gotten in eventually, it was only a matter of minutes.

Jake removed the bottle of water he had in the bottle carrier of the bag, taking small sips; he needed to conserve his water. He had scrounged so many supplies; canned foods, medicine, ammo; everything but water. He wanted only to get someplace where he could be alone, where he could die the lonely, miserable death he deserved.

Jake placed his hand on his pistol. A Walker was about twenty feet away. A young girl, perhaps a few years younger than him. He drew his gun and his knife, walking to the corpse as calmly as he was. The creep spotted him, and began walking. It limped, it's left ankle being twisted in the wrong direction. When he was seven feet away, Jake felt someone push him to the ground from behind, making him drop his weapons.

The attacker punched him in the back of the head, and ripped off his bag. Jake could hear him running away. The Walker lunged at him, catching the young man off guard. It tried to bite at him, but it's jaw was dislocated, preventing it from doing any harm.

Jake reached for one of his weapons, and found his knife. He stabbed the dead woman in the back of the head, killing it. He pushed the corpse off him, and got to his feet. He looked at the ground; he could see the footprints of his attacker in the dirt. He grabbed his gun, and chased after him.

Jake soon caught up to his attacker, a young man in his late teens, jumping and grabbing the bag, knocking him off balance. Jake ripped the bag off him, throwing to the side. He proceeded to beat him with his bare hands; he needed to kill this person, this thief. He couldn't let him live. And besides, he needed to kill something, it might as well be his attacker.

Jake threw the man into a tree, knocking him to the ground. He pulled out his knife, but was tackled by someone. This man was maybe in his late forties, early fifties. He punched Jake in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He had a hard punch. '

Jake stabbed the old man in the stomach, then retracted the blade and forced it back in. Five times he did this. The old man collapsed to the ground, dying from his wounds. He bled heavily, and Jake knew he was going to die. Nothing could save him.

Jake turned back to the teen, who tried backing away while on the ground, but was blocked by the tree. Jake drew his gun; he didn't want to prolong this. He aimed the gun him, about to pull the trigger, when a crying came from his right. He turned his head to find a young child, at most only five years old, running to the teen.

"Please don't hurt big brother!" the child cried, digging his face into his older brother's chest. "Please!"  
"Please!" the older brother said, "I'm sorry, just leave him alone! Please! Don't hurt my little brother!"

Jake kept his pistol aimed at the teen, then slowly lowered it, putting it back in it's holster. He didn't expect this. He looked at the dying old, who breathed weak breaths. He could see a resemblence in him and the brothers; he must have been their father. He looked back at the brothers, who lay crying on the tree. Jake could hear the older brother whispering. "_Don't look at him! Don't look!"_

Jake turned around and walked to his bag. He picked it up, putting it back on his back. He took a few steps before he stopped. He turned to look at the brothers; they had made their way over to their father, who was now dead, his chest not rising in the slightest. The two cried for their parent.

Jake let the bag drop from his back. He walked over to the brothers. They didn't know. He could tell. They didn't know their father would come back, that he would attack them, kill them the moment he awoke. He drew his pistol once more, and aimed it at the dead man. He fired a shot into his head, preventing him from coming back.

The brothers jumped from the sudden bang. The older brother shielded the younger brother, protecting him from Jake, who holstered his pistol once more. "You come back no matter what," Jake told him, still looking at the old man. He then looked at the brothers. "I'm sorry."  
Jake walked off, leaving the brothers and the bag. He had gone through a lot to get those supplies, killed a lot of Walkers, nearly died several times. He didn't want it anymore. He didn't deserve it. He walked the path he was walking before, now with much more weight on his shoulders.


	2. Ashley

_I know I haven't updated my other stories in months, but now that my semester's over, I promise I'll get to writing.  
I hope you all enjoy these Survivor Chronicles I am writing; I figure writing these will help get the creative juices flowing. _

* * *

**The Walking Dead:**** Survivor Chronicles**

**Ashley**

Ashley walked the lonely street, holding her engorged stomach; she was nine months pregnant, and her baby would come soon. A few days at best. She had found out months before that it was going to be a boy. She thought back to her husband, who had left for a business trip in Atlanta before the dead came back. He never came back. She didn't know if he was alive, dead, or worse. All she had to remember by was her baby bag, which he had bought as a present for her and the baby. He had supplied it with everything; diapers, wipes, baby formula, pacifiers, the works.  
Before the apocalypse, she had been a doctor; a surgeon in fact. She was one of the gifted ones, able to remove a bullet from a man without much risk. She had done that just four months prior, to a cop who had been shop in the line of duty. She couldn't recall his name, but knew he had a wife and son. She remembered his partner dropping off some flowers for him on her last day. She had taken a CAT scan of his brain that same day, and noticed some increased brain activity; she was gonna tell the partner and the family, but was afraid of getting their hopes up.

But none of that mattered now. That man was probably dead. If she was right, he would have woken up about a month later, maybe two, but by then the dead came back to life. There was no doubt in her mind that the defenseless man was killed, either by the monsters or the military.

Ashley felt her stomach churn. She hadn't eaten or drank anything in five days, and she was getting weaker by the moment. The baby bag had no food or water, only baby stuff. She couldn't let her baby starve.

As she walked, she saw something in the distance. She focused her eyes, and realized it was a car. She quickened her pace. Reaching the car, she realized that it was empty, but it was still on. She checked the gas gauge, seeing the car was running on empty. No wonder it was abandoned. Ashley popped the button for the trunk, hoping there would food or water inside. When she opened it, she saw the most horrific site.

There in the trunk was a young woman, tied up and beaten. She had fresh cuts and bruises all over her face, her mouth was taped shut, and she was naked from the waist down. Ashley cried silently, both out of fear and out of pity for the girl. Whoever owned this car, she didn't want to be around when they came back.

She turned to run away, but stopped. She looked at the unconscious woman; she was still alive, and although she was hurt badly, she didn't look like she had suffered any fatal blows. Ashley looked around the area, seeing and hearing no one. She went to the woman in the trunk, trying to remove her bonds. Rope kept her bound, and she tried to untie her wrists, but was finding it hard to do so. Whoever tied these ropes did a good job.

The woman woke up slowly from her touching her, and she looked at Ashley weakly. She was startled at first, and began to struggle. "_Hold still, I'm here to help,_" she whispered. The woman didn't calm down, and began trying to scream. "_I'm trying to help you! Now be quiet!"_

"Goddamn it!" Ashley heard someone yell. She panicked, looking at the direction of the voice. Two men were walking in the woods, one of them looking incredibly angry, the other one looking at the other with a cold, eerily calm face. "We almost had him! How'd we lose him?!"  
Ashley ran away, heading for the other side of the forest; she didn't want to be found by these men, not if they were the ones who had the girl in the trunk. She hid behind a tree, breathing as quietly as she could. She couldn't run through the woods, the men would catch her. She had to wait for them to leave. She felt guilty for leaving the girl, but figured better her and than both of them.

"What the hell?" she heard a different voice, probably the stoic one's, say. "Did you leave this open?" Ashley froze in terror; she forgot to close the trunk.  
"No!" the angry one yelled. "Shut up!" Ashley heard a loud smack, which she assumed was the man hitting the girl in the trunk.  
"Then who did?" Ashley felt her stomach wrench in pain; no this couldn't happen, not now. Not now of all times! She could water coming from she. Her water broke! THE BABY WAS COMING!

"Is someone there?" she heard a cold voice say, clearly enjoying himself. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you. This girl is a bad person; she tried to steal from us. I swear."  
She kept quiet until a contraction hit her, and she whimpered in pain. "Over there!" the angry one yelled. She ran, her position being found. She ran as fast as she could, into the forest.

Ashley heard one of them give chase. Another contraction hit her, and Ashley fell in pain. One of the men grabbed her, and she grabbed his genitals, squeezing them as hard as she could, making the man let go in pain. She ran again, her contractions getting closer and closer together.  
"GET BACK HERE, YOU BITCH!" the man yelled. "WHEN I CATCH YOU, I'M GONNA MAKE YOU SCREAM!"  
Ashley stopped as she felt the baby coming out. A bang filled the air next, and she then felt something ripping through her chest. She fell to the ground. She could feel blood coming out of her chest. "Got you!" the man said happily. He kicked her, forcing her onto her back. "Well, well, well, looks like you're about to have a baby!"  
"Please," Ashley begged, weakly. "Don't hurt my baby!" The man, who she now saw had a small, scruffy beard, kicked her hard in the face, hitting her into a tree. She could feel her baby coming out, until she finally heard the cry of the newborn.  
"Looks like I'm gonna have some fun with you, little fella." The man bent down to pick up the baby. Ashley cried weakly for her baby, having lost too much blood to even move. She feared what would happen to her baby, imagining the horrible life he would have.  
As the man was about to pick up the baby, Ashley heard another shot. The man fell to the dirt, screaming in pain. Ashley wondered where the shot came from, hoping to god it was from a friendly person, a good person. A few seconds later, she saw a young man in his twenties, looking at the man who was about to take her baby. He aimed a gun at him, firing one more shot into the pervert, ceasing his cries of pain, killing him.

The young man then looked at Ashley. He bent down, ripping open her blouse, inspecting her wound. He lowered his head, knowing she would die from her wound. A rustling to the left caught the young man's attention. He aimed his gun and began firing off several shots. She could hear growls, the growls of the monsters that had plagued the world. The gun clicked, having no more rounds in it. The young man swore, and looked at Ashley.

The young man bent down, taking the baby in his hands. He took a knife out of it's sheath, and cut the cord connecting the baby and it's mother. The young man held the cord shut, apparently knowing that if the cord wasn't closed, then the baby would probably bleed out. He stood up, looking at the woman again, then back to the baby.

"Adam!" Ashley breathed out weakly, using the last of her strength to name her son. "Adam." It was the name her and her husband had chosen for their child. She had to name her child.

The young man looked at her again, then back to the baby. "Adam," he repeated. He bent down once more, taking the baby bag Ashley had with her. As the young man turned to run, he stopped. He looked behind him. Ashley could the snarling and groans of the undead monsters coming from that direction. The young man bent over the dead, scruffy bearded man, picking up the man's gun, a rifle. He stood up, holding the gun in one hand, Adam in the other. He aimed the gun at Ashley. She thanked him silently; she didn't want to suffer any more than she had to. She didn't want her life being taken away by rapist and a murderer.

Ashley breathed her last breath, then heard a shot.

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_I hope you enjoyed Ashley's story. I'm sure you all think we're never gonna see her again. And you're right. Please leave a comment/review._


	3. Noah

_I'm liking this series.  
_

* * *

**The Walking Dead:**** Survivor Chronicles**

**Noah**

Noah sat on the floor, chewing on a piece of old gum. The taste had left it weeks ago, but he needed something to calm his nerves. Ordinarily he would light up a cigarette and smoke, but he didn't have any; it had been six weeks since his last smoke, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

Noah read an old medical text book; his studies had always been the most important thing to him, and now it was all he had left. His father and mother always wanted him to become a doctor, like them, and he aimed to please them, to meet their expectation, to surpass them. It was hard, but nothing in life ever was.

His parents worked at the CDC, being geniuses in their respective fields. They were to work with doctor Candace Jenner, a world renowned virologist, and together they would have found a cure for this plague. But it wasn't to be. Noah traveled for weeks to reach the CDC, avoiding The Plagued as best he could. But when he got there, the place was gone.

He knew what happened, his parents told him about it before. In case of complete power failure, the CDC was designed to self-destruct, incinerating every living things inside. This was done in case of a terrorist attack, or some other catastrophic event. The CDC held all of the world's most dangerous bacterias and viruses; just one vial of anything in there could, no, _would_, kill hundreds of thousands of people in a matter of weeks.

Noah looked around the area, finding mostly dead soldiers and a few dead doctors. Most of the bodies weren't armed, lacking any weapon whatsoever. He figured other survivors took them. He was able to find a dead soldier clutching a rifle, taking it as well as a grenade he had on his belt. The area was surprisingly lacking in The Plagued. A few of the undead monstrosities walked aimlessly around.

Noah left the CDC an hour or so later. There was nothing for him there. Anything in the CDC was destroyed, and everything in the area surrounding it was salvaged by others. He looked down at the ground as he walked away, not wanting to be surprised by some monster that was pretending to be dead. He noticed one of The Plagued, a woman, eating a corpse, and went to move around it, but stopped when he recognized the woman.

Noah moved closer to The Plagued One. The Plagued's body was decaying and old, and he instantly recognized her. It was his mother. Her legs were gone, having become a snack to some other Plagued One. She lied there, eating another familiar body. His father. He recognized his father's bald head, and the large scar he had on it. The scar had been from life saving brain surgery he had gotten a decade before; he had a large tumor in his brain, and his mother operated on him, removing the tumor and saving his life.

Noah stared at his mother; she hadn't noticed him yet. He was glad to have seen this. He would have looked for them, but now he didn't have to. He took his new rifle and put it to the back of his mother's head. He pulled the trigger, killing her.

Now he was here, in this run down old house, reading book after book after book. He read all of the medical books twice over, and now he was reading a book about microbial organisms; he hoped to find something that was similar to The Undead Plague in this new book, but once again found nothing.

Noah had studied dozens of The Plagued since the CDC. One bite was all it took to infect a person. The infection would kill them, then reanimate the subject. He couldn't figure it out.

Noah put his book down and sighed. He needed a break. Walking out of the room, he headed for the second floor of the house, going into the first room on his left. He looked at the bag next to the window; it was a solar panel, given to him for his birthday by his parents a few months before The Plague. He used it to power his laptop, which he kept all of his data from his experiment with The Plagued.

He checked the battery level, which neared ninety percent. Noah took his laptop from his bag, plugging it in the panel.

Noah looked outside, enjoying the sight of the tree branches moving in the wind, when something caught his eye. A young Asian woman came out of the forest, supporting a bleeding man, another Asian, perhaps her brother. She struggled to get him to the house, a few of The Plagued following them. One of The Plagued neared the pair, trying to bite the woman's neck.

Noah reached for his rifle, aiming it The Plagued. He fired a shot, killing it. The young woman was surprised by her saviour, looking at where the shot came from. "Get in!" Noah yelled, taking another shot at one of The Plagued. "I'll take care of them!"

He fired his rifle at The Plagued, killing them one by one. He was worried the sound would draw more of them to the house, but knew it was moot by now, since he already took several shots.

Once all of The Plagued were dead, and he didn't see any more coming, Noah headed downstairs, to find the woman and man. He looked in his bedroom, finding the woman trying to stem her companion's bleeding. "Let me help."  
The woman turned around, scared of Noah. She tried talking to him, but she spoke a different language. "Calm down," Noah told her. "I don't understand you."  
"Help," the woman said with difficulty. "Help."  
Noah went to the bleeding man. The man was bleeding heavily from his stomach. Noah cut off the man's shirt, finding the wound. It wasn't a bite. It was a knife wound. Someone stabbed him.

"Listen," Noah said slowly, taking the woman's hands and placing them on the wound. "Keep your hands on the wound. I need to get my bag." He left the woman with the man, her crying breaking his heart. He was losing too much blood too fast, and he was pale from it. Noah found his bag, his father's old doctor bag, and went to the bleeding man.

He did his best to sew up the man's wound, lacking any anesthetic to numb the pain. He looked at the finished product, groaning at the sight; the stitches were chaotic and uneven due to the man's constant thrashing in pain. The worst of the bleeding had stopped, but it flowed.

Noah inspected the unconscious man, making sure he wasn't bit or cut. He didn't want him to become one of The Plagued. Not finding any wounds other than the knife wound, he sighed with relief. He looked at the Asian woman, who cried for her companion.

"Can you speak English?" Noah asked. The woman looked at him. "Anything at all?"  
The woman responded with the same language, only with different words. Whoever she was, she certainly wasn't from here. Noah surmised that she was an illegal immigrant.

Noah stopped her talking. "My name is Noah." He pointed at himself. "Noah," he repeated.  
The woman pointed at him. "Noah," she said. She pointed at herself. "Ming." She then pointed to the man. "Li."  
"Ming. Li. Alright. Listen, you have to leave me with Li, alright?" She looked at him with questioning eyes. Noah grabbed Ming's hand, guiding her out of the room. She fought a little, but relented.  
Noah brought her to the kitchen, sitting her down next to the counter. He opened the cabinets, finding a small box of dry cereal and a bottle of water. He extended them to Ming. "You need food," he told her. "Have these." The Asian woman slowly took the food and water, wary of Noah.

"I'm gonna check on your friend," he told her. "Stay here."  
Noah left the kitchen, leaving Ming to eat. He wasn't sure the man would make, positive he lost too much blood. When he returned to the room he left the man in, he found him standing.

Noah was surprised at this. He didn't expect him to live, let alone be able to stand up. "You shouldn't be up," Noah told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Please, lie down."  
Li looked at Noah's hand, grabbing it with all his strength. Noah ripped his hand away. "That hurt!" he told him. "What's your prob-?"

Noah stopped short when the man turned around. His face pale, his teeth were bared, and his eyes were glazed over. He was one of The Plagued. Li attacked Noah, grabbing him by his throat.

Noah struggled with the man, preventing him from biting him. "Ming!" Noah yelled. "Help!" He heard steps coming from the other room, heading for him.  
Noah struggled harder to keep Li from biting him, the man's face now mere inches from his own. He heard Ming scream upon finding Li and Noah, Li looking up at his former friend. Using his temporary distraction, Noah threw Li to the side.  
Noah ran to grab a scalpel from his doctor's bag, turning around to see Li grabbing at Ming's foot, biting it with his filthy teeth. Noah ran to the man, stabbing him in the head with the scalpel, killing him.

Noah paused to catch his breath. He didn't understand what had happened. He checked the man for bites and scratches, and found nothing. He shouldn't have turned into one of The Plagued. Ming's crying brought him out of his thoughts. She held her bleeding foot; Li had bit into her ankle, tearing the flesh from the bone.

He didn't understand how Li became one of The Plagued. But he did know that if he didn't do something now, then Ming would turn. Noah dragged Ming into the kitchen, away from her dead companion, the woman crying from pain of several different kinds. He then ran to his study, finding his pistol.  
He didn't know if this would work, but it was better than nothing. He reentered the kitchen, the crying Ming seeing him with his gun and becoming more frightened. Noah aimed his pistol at Ming's foot, aiming for the area between the ankle and the knee. Noah had no saw, no axe, nothing to amputate with. All he had was his guns.

He fired a shot into Ming's leg, hitting his spot. He fired again and again, only stopping when the foot separated from the rest of the leg. The Asian woman cried even louder, in more pain than she ever thought she would ever suffer in her life.

Noah exited the room. It had been three hours since he shot off Ming's foot. He had since moved the body of her companion outside, leaving it outside until he could decide what to do with it. Ming was now unconscious, bloody bandages wrapped where her foot once was. A fever had not yet set in, most likely meaning Noah had removed the foot before the infection could set.

The only thing disturbing Noah was Li's turning. He didn't have any bites; he double checked before he threw him outside, and triple checked after he did so. He didn't want to believe it, but he figured out the cause; he was already infected. It wasn't a bite, it wasn't a scratch. It wasn't something The Plagued carried that reanimated people. It was something in the people. The bite merely killed the bitten. You came back no matter how you died.

This theory fit with him, and he accepted it. But one thing eluded him. He thought back his parents. His mother became one of The Plagued, consuming his father's corpse. What he didn't understand was, why didn't his father reanimate?

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_Before you ask, no, there is no cure. Please leave a review._


	4. Jake 2

_I have had Jake and Adam in my head for the past year, and I'm lovin' the both of them.  
_

* * *

**The Walking Dead:**** Survivor Chronicles**

**Jake**

Three months had passed since Jake had killed that man. The thing that frightened him was that it didn't bother him anymore. He wanted to feel guilt for what he did, but he didn't feel anything.

Jake carried a small grocery bag with him the woods. Inside the bag was a dead squirrel, his dinner. Walkers had eaten or scared off most other animals, leaving only the smallest ones alive.

Jake heard a gunshot, drawing his gun at the sound. He ducked to the ground, dropping his bag. Jake could hear someone talking. "Looks like I'm gonna have some fun with you, little fella." He followed the voice, finding a man standing over a bleeding woman. He aimed his gun at the man, firing one shot at him. He hit the man in the shoulder, causing him to fall to the ground.

Jake ran up to the woman, the man screaming from the pain. He looked at the woman, who lay bleeding against a tree, a baby at her crotch. The man screamed some more, and Jake fired one more shot into the man, killing him.  
Jake bent down to inspect the woman. He ripped open his blouse, seeing a gunshot wound in her chest. The bullet was a through and through, tearing through her heart. She was gonna die.

Bushes rustling caught Jake's attention. He looked to his right, seeing several Walkers. The gunshots attracted them. He drew his pistol and fired at the Walkers, killing the ones closest to them. The gun clicked empty after six shots. He swore, then looked back the dying woman.  
Jake looked at the crying infant. Unsheathing his knife, he proceeded to cut the baby's cord, seperating it from it's mother. He noticed it was a baby boy. Jake kept the cord pinched, knowing that if he didn't do so, the baby may bleed out.

Jake took the baby, noticing a baby bag next to the woman. He took the bag and stood up. "Adam!" He looked at the woman. "Adam!"  
Jake looked at the baby, then his mother. "Adam," he repeated, nodding his head. He went to leave, but stopped. He looked at the woman. He couldn't leave her here to die, not like this. He looked at the dead man at his feet; a rifle sat next to his body, the gun the man must have used to shoot the woman.

Jake picked up the rifle. He aimed it at the woman, straight at her head. He fired a shot, killing her.

Jake ran as fast as he could though the forest. The baby, Adam, cried non-stop, attracting Walkers from the whole area. He needed to get somewhere safe. His camp wasn't secure, and with the baby's crying, it would be compromised in minutes. He needed a house. A group. He needed help.

Jake ran through the woods, spotting a large house in the woods. He ran for the house, hoping to find someone inside. He sighed with relief when he came closer to the house; in front of the house were several vehicles, ones with military insignias and designs.  
Jake ran into the house, not noticing the lack of military personel. "Hey!" Jake yelled. "I need some help! I've got a baby!"  
No one answered. Jake noticed the stairs to the second floor were missing, a ladder taking their place. He checked the first room to his left, finding a soldier standing there. "Hey, I need some help! Walkers are coming, I've got a baby here!" The man ignored him. "Hey, you listenin' to me?!"  
Jake walked over to the man, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around. The man's face was pale, his eyes glazed over. He was a Walker! "Shit!"  
The Walker lunged at Jake, forcing him back. Jake ran out of the room, running into even more soldiers, also turned into Walkers. He turned around, heading for the door, intending to run away, but was greeted with dozens of Walkers outside, shambling towards the house.

Jake turned around, trying to think of something. He remembered the ladder, and ran for it, pushing the Walker he grabbed before out of his way. He climbed the ladder, making it to the second floor. He laid the baby down gently on the floor, then went to pull the ladder up.

A Walker tried climbing up the ladder, but Jake shot it with his rifle, killing it. He then pulled the ladder up, the Walkers trying to grab at him, unable to reach him. Jake turned around, to make sure the second floor was clear. He picked up Adam, keeping himself ready in case of attack.

He checked a room on his left, finding an enormous pile of supplies. Gun rested in one corner, scattered in chaos; rifles, assault rifles, pistols, shotguns, even a rocket launcher. Food sat in the center of the room, stacked neatly into a pile; canned goods, dried meats and vegetables, along with several jugs and bottles of water. In another corner lay several bags, filled to the brim with god knew what.

Jake could shook his head, clearing it. He needed to check the rest of the house.

After making sure the second floor was secure, Jake laid the newborn Adam on a bed in another room. The baby was still crying, hungry and afraid. Jake looked through the baby bag he took from the woman, finding several packets of formula mix.  
Jake went to the room with the supplies, still amazed at the sight. He figured the house was a supply depot for the military, or at least the unit that was here. He hoped more of them would arrive, so he could have some help with Adam. Taking a bottle of water from the supply, he left to make Adam a bottle.

Jake stopped where the stairs once were. The military must have destroyed the stairs and placed the ladder there to prevent Walkers from getting upstairs. How the soldiers here died, he didn't know, but he didn't really care. They were dead, and he couldn't change that.

The Walkers were still in the area, most of them still in the house, being attracted by the baby's crying. Jake needed to calm Adam down, before too many Walkers found them. He went to the room he left Adam in, and proceeded to make a bottle for the infant.

Once the bottle was made, he started feeding the baby, who quieted down upon receiving the nipple. Once he ate all of the food, he laid the baby down on the bed, wrapping him up like he should in a blanket that was in the baby bag. Jake left him alone, wanting to check on the supplies. He wanted to know how much he had, how much food, water, guns and ammo he had found.  
He cataloged everything. He had time to kill, after all, might as well spend it doing something useful. He needed to wait until the Walkers downstairs were gone, but with all of the supplies in this house, he could wait a long time.

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_Please remember to leave a review._


	5. Kevin

_I don't own The Walking Dead. I wish I could meet the guy who did though. _

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**The Walking Dead:**** Survivor Chronicles**

**Kevin**

Kevin fired a shot at the Walker, killing it. He stared at it blankly, feeling no remorse or pity for the undead creature. He bent down to pick up the bag it held, looking through it's contents. A bag of chips and bottle of water. Nothing else. He looked back at the corpse, then walked off.

It had been months since he first encountered a Walker. He was a patient in a hospital, King's County, and had escaped with his best and only friend, Nathan, with no help from the military. At first, he thought they were there to protect them, to bring them bring them to a safe place. But Nathan told him otherwise. Nathan always knew what to do.

Kevin walked back to his camp, stepping over the trip wires he made to alert him in case of intruders, whether they were Walkers or people. He saw a short man with thick glasses sitting on a chair, staring at a pot of boiling water. He looked at Kevin.

"You're back," the man said. "I was getting worried."

"You don't have to worry about me, Nathan," Kevin told him. "I can take care of myself."

Nathan pointed to the bag. "What'd you get?"

"Just a bag of chips and a bottle of water." He placed the bag on the dirt. He picked up the boiling water, putting it on the ground. "I told you to take it off the fire after it boiled for five minutes. We need to conserve water, Nathan."

"I was being careful," Nathan told him. "For all I knew, the water was still swimming with bacteria."

"Whatever," Kevin sighed. He opened the bag, taking out the bag of chips. He ripped open the bag, and began eating. He held the bag out to Nathan. He put a hand in the bag, taking a chip.

"Thanks." He threw the chip in his mouth, making low crunching sounds. "How much longer do you think we should stay here?"

Kevin ate another chip. "We'll leave after we bottle the water. There are more Walkers everyday, and even less wildlife. Where do you think I got the bag?"

"Where?" Nathan asked.

"A Walker. Died carrying it, I guess."

The two sat in silence, eating their chips. When the water cooled down, Kevin went to their tent, grabbing the empty bottles they kept for water. He filled each bottle to the brim with the purified water, then proceeded to pack up their camp.

After packing up the camp, bagging the water bottles and folding up the tent, the two left, to find another place to stay. "We should look for a house," Kevin said. "It'll be easier to defend than a camp."

"Lots of people are looking for houses," Nathan told him. "We're probably gonna encounter people. Bad people."

"You don't know that," Kevin told him. "Why are you always so paranoid?"

"Have I been wrong yet?"

Kevin looked down at his question. He was right. Nathan's never been wrong, and he doubted he would be wrong now.

* * *

Kevin looked back at Nathan; he didn't seem bothered by the weight of the bags he was carrying. Kevin on the other hand was struggling to carry his load. They split the weight, but he always felt like he was carrying everything. It wasn't fair.

Kevin and Nathan walked out of the woods, finding a road. They had decided not to stay in the woods, not with the increasing amount of Walkers. The two walked on the road, hoping to come across a car. They saw only ruined cars, some stripped for parts, other crashed and destroyed.

"My back's starting to hurt," Kevin groaned. "How can you carry all that stuff?"

"I don't know," Nathan laughed. "Just can, I guess."

The two of them continued walking. Kevin stopped when he noticed a building off in the distance. "You see that?" He pointed to the building. "Might be a gas station."

"We should hurry," Nathan told him, looking at the lowering sun. "Night's coming, and I don't wanna spend another night outside."

The two of them hurried to the building, finding that it was indeed a gas station. Kevin checked the area around the station, finding no Walkers or traps. He put a finger on his lips, to tell Nathan to keep quiet. He opened the door slowly, keeping his ears sharp.

The two of them entered the station, leaving their bags at the entrance. Kevin pointed at Nathan, then pointed at a door. Nathan nodded, and went to the door. Kevin went to another door, looking through the window. He opened the door, holding his knife in case of attack. He looked around the room, making sure it was empty. He found nothing.

He left the room, going back to Nathan. He found the door he was standing near closed, Nathan gone. "_Nathan?_" Kevin whispered. "_Where are you?"_

Kevin walked slowly to the door. Did Nathan go inside? Why would he close the door? Kevin turned the knob, slowly opening the door. He peeked inside, finding two people, a man and a woman, on a bed, sleeping. He entered the room, careful to not disturb the couple.

"Hey," Kevin said loudly. The two didn't move. "You alive?"

The man opened his eyes slowly, then jumped at the sight of Kevin. Kevin saw that the man was Asian. "Relax," Kevin told him. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

The man gently shook the woman, who was also Asian, waking her up as well. The two of them were fully clothed, both of them covered in dirt and grime.

The man spoke slowly, but in a different language. "I don't understand," Kevin told him. "Speak english."

"What are you doing?" a voice asked. Kevin looked behind him to find Nathan, looking at him. "Kill them."

"What?!" Kevin asked. "Are you insane?! Why?!"

"Because they're dangerous! We don't know them! They could be cannibals for we know!"

"Are you hearing yourself?" Kevin asked. "Cannibals? Really?"  
Kevin heard the woman speaking, and looked back at the couple. The woman looked afraid, as if not understanding what was happening. "Just calm down," he told her. "We're not gonna hurt you."

"KILL THEM!" Nathan yelled. "NOW!"

Kevin looked back at Nathan. "I told you, n-" he was cut off as he felt someone tackle him. He looked at the Asian man, who tried to grab the knife from his hand.

"I told you!" Nathan yelled. "Kill them!"

Kevin wrestled with the man, hearing the woman scream. "Help!" he yelled. He looked at Nathan, but found him gone. Did he leave him?

Kevin pushed the Asian man off, throwing him into the bed. Kevin ran outside, looking for Nathan. "Nathan!" No answer. "Nathan!"

Kevin felt someone tackle him. It was the Asian man. He grabbed at his knife, trying to take it from him. Kevin got out of his hold, and stabbed the man in the chest, pushing him backward. The woman exited the station, screaming at the sight of her bleeding companion.

The woman went to the man, helping his stand up. She looked at Kevin, still holding the bloody knife, and cried for her life. She led the man away Kevin, away from the station, leaving Kevin alone.

Kevin went back in the station, looking for Nathan. "Why didn't you just kill them?" He looked behind, finding Nathan in the doorway. "If you had done like I told you, that wouldn't have happened."

"You screaming at me to kill them is what made that guy attack me!" Kevin yelled. "This is your fault!"

Kevin and Nathan stared at each other in silence.

* * *

_Please remember to leave a review. It helps a lot._


	6. Dexter

_Here's chapter 6. I do not own The Walking Dead. I hope to get some good reviews for Dexter._

* * *

**Dexter**

Dexter walked up to the bar, stopping at the entrance. He checked himself, making sure his uniform was perfect. His badge glistened in the light, his belt held all of the equipment required for a police officer. He entered the building.

He was looking for a woman. He was told she would be in this building, wearing a red, skin tight dress. He looked around the bar, finding her with at least three other women. This would be easy. This would make a name for himself.

He slowly made his way toward the group of women. One of them, a woman in a beautiful blue dress, looked at him. She stood up. He approached her. "Is there a problem officer?" she asked.

Dexter puffed up his chest. "I'm here for Carolyn," he told her. The woman in blue smiled. "Is she here?"

"I think so," she answered. "Carolyn, you're here right?"

"Why yes, I am," the woman in red responded.

The sound of breaking glass came from behind Dexter. He looked back, finding a man on the floor, passed out, drunk. He groaned in annoyance. Dexter walked over to the woman. "Maam, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me."

"What for, officer .." Carolyn squinted her eyes, focusing on his name tag, "Morgan."

"I think you know what," he told her. "This is about a payment you and your friend's made last month. Now, if you would be so kind as to-"

A scream cut Dexter off. He looked behind him, finding that the man who had passed out was back on his feet, attacking a young woman. "Hey!" he yelled. He ran to the man, grabbing him by his shoulders and throwing him off the woman. He looked at the woman; she had a large piece of flesh missing from her throat and face, blood pouring out from the wound.

Dexter bent down to help her, but stopped when he heard another scream. He turned around, finding that the man who he thrown off the first woman was now attacking the woman in blue.

"Help!" she screamed. "Someone call the police!"

Dexter ran over to the man once again, pulling him off of her. The woman in blue had a nasty gash on her hand from stopping the man from biting her. He looked at the drunk. "Calm down, mister!" he yelled at him. He reached for his gun, aiming at the man. "Get down on the ground!"

The drunk came at him, grabbing Dexter by his collar. He looked at the man's face; the man's eyes were glazed, his mouth was frothing, snapping open and shut, trying to bite Dexter. He looked ... dead.

Dexter hit the man with his gun, knocking him into the bar counter, hearing a sickening crack coming from the man's head. Blood and hair stuck to the counter. The drunk hit the floor, this time not getting up. "What was wrong with that guy?" he heard the bartender ask.

"Is the woman okay?" Dexter hurried over to the woman on the floor, who had stopped moving. The woman in red, Carolyn, had made her way over the wounded girl.

"Angie!" Carolyn yelled. "Get my bag." The woman in blue went next the Carolyn, putting a doctor's bag down on the floor beside her. "She's bleeding bad."

"I'll call an ambulance," Angie told her, keeping a bloody rag on her wounded hand.

Dexter knelt down next to the them. "Is she alive?" he asked.

"I don't feel a pulse," Carolyn told him. "But she is moving. What about the crazy guy?"

"He's out," Dexter told her. "Hit his head pretty hard."

The woman reached her hand over Carolyn's head, grabbing her by her hair. She forced her closer to her, trying to sink her teeth in the woman helping her.

"AAHH!" Carolyn screamed, trying with all her strength to stop from being bitten. "HELP!"  
Dexter grabbed the woman, forcing the two apart. He looked at the woman's face; blood still poured from her wound, but her eyes were what caught his attention. Her eyes were the same, glazed look as the drunks. What was happening?!

The woman came at him, forcing Dexter onto his back. He kept her at bay, yelling. "Get this bitch off of me!"

The bouncer for the bar, a very large Asian man, came up behind the woman, grabbing her with his large arms, wrapping them completely around her small body. Dexter crawled back, hitting the drunk from before. He looked at the man, noticing that his eyes were still open, glazed like before, yet his features were pale, as if he were dead.

"Calm down, lady!" the bouncer yelled.

"Don't hurt her!" Carolyn yelled. Dexter heard sirens from outside. "They're here! Get her to the ambulance!"

Dexter followed as the bouncer followed Carolyn out the door. Dexter followed, wondering just what was going on. He made it outside in time see several EMT's struggling to keep the woman down on a stretcher, buckling her into the orange board. "She's suffered a bite wound to the face and throat," Carolyn told the EMT's. "Her jugular vein's been torn, and she's losing blood fast! It seems like she's suffering from some kind of psychotic break."

"Another one?!" one of the EMT's said. "What the hell's going on?!"

"Doctor Maine," one the EMT's, a handsome young man, said, looking at Carolyn "the call said there were three people."

"The man who did this is inside," Dexter told him. "I think he's dead."

"My friend Angie's inside," Carolyn told him. "She has a nasty bite on her hand."

"I'll check on her," one of the EMT's said, heading into the bar.

"Let's get her to the hospital," the handsome EMT said. "Are you coming, officer?"

Dexter didn't react at first. He then looked at the man. "Yes, yes, I'd better come with you."

* * *

At the hospital, Dexter sat on a chair, hands covering his face, waiting for news on the young woman. The hospital was hectic, filled with doctors and nurses running back and forth, people screaming out of fear and pain. Even the military was there, trying to keep some semblance of order.

He wasn't supposed to be here! He was only at that bar for a job! Nothing like this was supposed to happen! "Hey, you!" Dexter looked up, finding a man in military garb holding a large gun. "We need some extra hands over in the trauma ward; c'mon!"

"Why do you need me?" Dexter asked.

"We need to restore order to this place," the soldier told him. "It's your job to keep the peace! Now come with me!"

Jake then remembered that he was in his uniform. He groaned in frustration, not knowing how to deal with this situation. Not wanting to argue with the solider, Dexter stood up. "Lead the way."

The soldier guided Dexter to the area he was needed. "What's your name?" the soldier asked. "I'm Corporal Lewis."

"Dexter," Dexter replied. "Dexter Morgan."

"Good thing you're here; we're running low on men."

"Do you know what's going on?" Dexter asked. "I was at the bar when this guy went nuts, starting biting people. Oh god, I think I killed him getting him off the woman he was attacking."

"It gets easier," Corporal Lewis told him. "Killing I mean. It's sick to say, but it's the truth."

"But what's happening?"

"Can't say. All I know is, people are going crazy all over town. I've heard rumors it may even be countrywide."  
Dexter felt his heart race even faster than it was before. People going crazy? Countrywide? He'd heard the rumors, but he thought it was just some crazed junkies! "How is this possible?" It was then that Dexter noticed that there were almost no people around. Patients lay in hospital beds, too weak and sick to move, but there were no doctors or family.

"Don't know." Lewis stopped at a door, his face frozen in shock. He then looked at Dexter. "Draw your weapon."

"What?" Dexter asked. "You said you needed help with-"

"It's too late," Lewis told him, fidgeting around with a radio on his shoulder. "This is Corporal Lewis, can anyone hear me? Over."

Nothing came from the other end. "I repeat, can anyone hear me?"

"This is Lieutenant Gabriel," someone replied. "Corporal Lewis, what is your location?"

"I'm in Rima Hospital," Lewis replied.

"The hospital's become overrun with infected," the Lieutenant, Gabriel, told him. "We're leveling the place. You and your unit get out of there!"

"Leveling it?!" Dexter repeated. He grabbed the radio from Lewis's hand. "What do you mean leveling it?"

"Who is this?" Lieutenant Gabriel asked.

"Dexter Morgan!" Dexter yelled into the radio. "And there are people in here! You can't just level this place!"  
Lewis grabbed the radio off Dexter. "That's officer Morgan; he was helping me restore order."

"It doesn't matter!" Gabriel told him. "Just get out of that hospital! You have fifteen minutes!"

The radio went silent. "We have to go," Lewis said.

"How are they gonna level the hospital?!" Dexter demanded, grabbing Lewis and turning him around to look at him.

Lewis looked at him with an unreadable stare. "The military planted C-4 at structural weak points all around the hospital; it was set up just in case things went South."

"So you're going to just leave all these people?!" Dexter asked. "We have to evacuate the hospital!"

"Look, we don't have time to-" Lewis was cut off by a banging at the door behind him. Dexter looked through the small rectangular window, and paled at the site. He could faces of dead people, snarling at the door, trying to get at them through the window. "We have to go!"

Lewis ran passed Dexter, and Dexter followed him.

The two ran through the hospital, looking for an exit. People ran around in chaos, some of them doctors, some of them patients, others family and friends. Dexter was horrified at the sight; people were attacking each other, taking large bites out of the people grabbed. "What about your unit?" Dexter asked. "Where are they?"

"They were in the trauma ward," Lewis told him. "They're gone."

"Where's the elevator?" Dexter asked.

"Are you insane?" Lewis asked. "We take the stairs, not the elevator; no telling if they even work right now."

"Alright then, where are the stairs!?"

The Corporal looked around, then pointed at a sign. "That way! Come on!"

Dexter followed Lewis, but stopped when he found himself face to face with Carolyn Maine, the doctor he came to the hospital with. The doctor held a scalpel in her hand, blood covering her body. "She came at me," she whimpered. "I just ... reacted."

"We have to get out of here," Dexter told her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her with him. The doctor followed with no resistance, too shocked to know what was fully happening.

Dexter followed Lewis to the stairs, running down as fast as he could. He wanted to evacuate the hospital, but now he realized it was pointless; people were going to leave the hospital regardless. Assuming they survived.

With Carolyn slowing them down, Dexter picked her up. He didn't want to die. He followed Lewis, but stopped when a group of the monsters, the 'Infected', blocked their path. The creatures looked at them and snarled, limping to them. Lewis aimed his machine gun at them, and began firing. At first the creatures just continued coming toward them, the bullets only slowing them down.

The creatures fell to the ground after enough rounds, and the two once again headed for the exit. When they made it to the entrance, Dexter ran ahead, holding the door open for Lewis, then followed him after he ran out.

"Where's the military?!" Dexter asked, his breathing heavy and haggard.

"There's a base about half a mile from here," Lewis told him. He was breathing lighter than Dexter, but still a little heavily. "We'll go there and-"

A large explosion cut him off. Dexter turned around to watch as the lower levels of the hospital were blown up by the C-4. Explosions boomed up the building, causing the structure to collapse. The hospital fell into itself, leaving a big pile of rubble in it's wake.

"We have to go," Lewis said. "Come on. I see my jeep; we'll take it to the base."

Dexter turned around, following Lewis to the jeep. He helped Carolyn in the back seat, and sat with her. He wondered if things were better at this base Lewis was taking them to. He could only hope it was.

* * *

_Okay, I know I cheated with the name, but I couldn't think of a last name. I've had Dexter in my head for a few months, and when I tried to come up with a last name, I drew a blank. So I just used Morgan.  
_

_Please remember to leave a review. I accept both good and bad, hates and likes, and yada yada yada. You get the point._


	7. Parker

_Two chapters in a row. Sorry these are late, I've got some problems to deal with at the moment, but I got around to this story. I'll get the next chapter for S.O.S. soon._

* * *

**Parker**

Parker sat in front of the fire, watching as a crow his father caught cooked. He looked at the young boy lying on his lap. The young boy was Nicholas, his younger brother. He was only five years old, and he had already suffered so much. For now, he found solace in sleep.  
Four months had passed since they first encountered one of the dead. Lurkers, that's what his father called them. Parker heard a rustling behind him. He looked to see what it was, and saw his father. He held a dead squirrel in his left hand, a large knife in his right.

"Got a squirrel," he told them.

"I can see that," Parker told him. "We need more than that, though."

"I know that," his father responded. He sat across from them, putting the squirrel in his bag. "We'll save it for tomorrow."

"How're you feeling?" Parker's father asked.

"What do you mean?" Parker asked.

"It's been three months since you last had anything. Do you still feel it?"

"Of course I still feel it!" Parker told him loudly. He looked at Nicholas, then lowered his voice. "Look, I don't want to talk about that, okay?"

They sat in silence for a while, until Parker's father resumed talking. "The reason I ask," he said, "is because we're gonna go to the hospital tomorrow. In Atlanta." Parker looked at him. "We're running out of Albuterol."

Parker scratched at his wrists, feeling the familiar scars he gave himself all those years ago. Although he looked like a young man, a kid in his late teens, he was actually in his mid twenties. Years of drug abuse made him skinny and weak. He looked much younger than he should have.

"I'm okay," Parker told him. "Really, I am."

"I just need to be sure," his father said. "You know your history, son."

"I said I'm fine!" Parker yelled, standing up, throwing Nicholas off of him. The young boy jerked awake, and let out a small yell.

"Parker!" his father yelled, hurrying to his youngest son, picking him up. Nicholas was crying. "It's alright, it's alright. Nothing's wrong, Nicky, just calm down."

Parker looked at the two of them, then turned around. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going for a walk!" Parker told him. "I need to be away from you!"

Parker began to walk away, but stopped when he heard his brother's voice. "Big brother?" Parker looked behind him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm-I'm going to look for some food," Parker told him. "Don't worry. I'll be back. I promise."

"Be ... careful," Nicholas told him.

"I will. Stay here with Dad, okay?" Parker walked off.

* * *

Parker walked through the woods, breathing in and out, trying to calm himself down. He remembered his baby brother's words. They were separated by heavy breaths. He needed his medicine.

Parker took out his knife; it was nothing compared to a real knife, just a small piece he found on a Lurker. He stopped at a large tree, and sat down. He played with the knife, thinking of how easy it would be to do it. He had done it years ago, after his mother died giving birth to Nicholas. He cut himself. So many times.

Parker remembered when his father found him like that. He was barely conscious, but he remembered everything perfectly. He had smoked some crack an hour beforehand, trying to get over his mother's recent death. His saw his father crying like a baby, tears streaming down his face like a fountain. It was the first time he'd ever seen his father cry.

Parker heard someone walking from behind the tree. Standing up, he peeked from behind the tree, finding a young man looking at a Lurker a few yards ahead of him. The young man was about his age, maybe a couple years younger. He was tall, and seemed to have a ... dangerous aura about him. But what caught Parker's eyes the most was the large, grey bag he had on his back. It was packed to the brim with stuff. He could only wonder what was in there; food, water, medicine, even guns!

The backpacker drew a gun and knife, and walked up to the Lurker. Without thinking, Parker ran to the stranger, grabbing his bag and stabbing him in the shoulder, throwing him towards the Lurker. The bag came off with a twist, and the stranger dropped his gun. Parker grabbed the gun and began running away, lugging the heavy bag.

Parker ran as fast as he could with the heavy, running back to his father and brother. He had to show his father what he had gotten. He slowed a bit when he remembered what he had done, then stopped. He had stabbed a man in the back, and threw him to a Lurker. He murdered someone.

Parker looked around, trying to figure where he was supposed to go. He would deal with his guilt later, he had to get back to his family. He looked around and found the tree with the blue paint on it, a marker his father made to help identify where they are, when he felt himself being pushed to the ground, the bag forced out of his hand.

Parker stood up, and looked at his attacker, surprised to see the stranger he thought he had killed. He looked at Parker with hatred and anger. He looked at Parker's hand, and he followed his gaze. He still had the man's gun. He tried to aim the gun at the stranger, but was too slow; the stranger ran up to him, forcing the gun painfully out of his hand.

The stranger then proceeded to beat him, hitting him in the chest, stomach, and face. Parker felt himself being thrown into a tree, hitting the hard bark with his back. Parker looked up weakly, in time to see the stranger drawing his knife.

Before the stranger could take another step, Parker saw his father tackle him, punching the younger man in the gut. The young man didn't seem too phased by his father's attacked. He watched as his father reached for his knife, but failed to reach it. The young man stabbed his father in the stomach, again and again, throwing him to the floor when he was done.

The stranger then looked at Parker. He took a few steps towards him, picking his gun up off the ground and aiming at Parker. He tried to back up, forgetting the tree was blocking his path. Parker looked the young stranger in the eye, knowing that he deserved to die. He had tried to kill this stranger for his bag, and in doing so, he got his father killed. Soon, he would be dead as well, and his brother would be alone. No doubt he would die as well.

The sound of Nicholas crying caught his attention, as it did the stranger's. Nicholas ran to Parker's side. "Please don't hurt big brother!" the child cried, digging his face into his older brother's chest. "Please!"

"Please!" Parker begged, "I'm sorry, just leave him alone! Please! Don't hurt my little brother!"

The stranger looked at them with shocked eyes. He looked at Nicholas, then back at Parker. Nicholas tried to look at the young man, but was stopped by Parker. "_Don't look at him!_" Parker told him. "_Don't look!_" He then moved back, going to the bag Parker had stolen off of him. He picked it up, but Parker ignored him, and instead crawled with his brother over to his father.

"Daddy," Nicholas said with a cry. "Daddy, wake-up." Parker looked at his father; he had stopped breathing, his eyes were already void of life. He was dead. Parker felt tears on his face; he hadn't realized he was crying.  
Parker held his brother, trying to comfort him the best could. He then noticed his father's hands beginning to twitch. He thought it was just a death spasm, but was shocked when his hands picked themselves up. Was he wrong? Was his Dad alive?

Parker looked at his father's eyes, seeing that they were glazed over. He had become a Lurker! He was about to grab Nicholas and run, when a loud bang shocked the two of them. Parker saw his father's head blow up, his brains splattering from behind his skull into the ground.

Parker grabbed his brother, shielding him behind himself, and looked at the stranger, who had his gun pointed at his father. The young man holstered his gun and walked away. Parker watched as the young man who killed his father left him and his brother, walking away with nothing. Parker looked around, noticing the bag he had tried to steal still on the ground. The young man left the bag.

Parker stood up, carrying his brother with him. Nicholas didn't fight him, too traumatized by what had just happened to argue. Parker approached the bag, picking it up with his free hand. He threw the bag's strap around his arm, letting go of Nicholas for a moment to put the other strap on, then grabbed Nicholas again and began to walk off. He had to get him and his little brother out of there, before Lurkers followed the noise of the gunshot. Parker picked up his brother, carrying him the rest of the way, as he started to lag behind. The weight of the bag was heavy, but it was nothing compared to the knowledge that he had gotten his father killed. Killed for the bag the man gave.

* * *

_And so ends Parker's first story. He'll be back, I promise. I'm trying to figure out who I should do next. I'm gonna make Parker and our mysterious stranger meet again one day, I promise.  
_


	8. Noah 2

_Noah 2 is out. I had a lot of problems writing this. Not writing problem, me problems. I ended up copying and pasting the whole chapter into the middle of itself. Had a hard time cleaning that mess up. _

* * *

**Noah**

One month had passed since Noah's encounter with the Japanese man and woman. The man had turned, apparently already being an Infected. The woman, who did not understand any English, had been bitten by her companion; Noah had shot off her foot to prevent the Infection from setting in, and succeeded in saving her life.

Noah did not allow Ming to leave the house, not until she was in good enough condition to actually move, though she didn't want to leave anyway. The young woman was obviously too traumatized to leave the house they were in.

The two had not been able to communicate very well in the last month, due to neither being able to speak the others language. Noah talked to her, bouncing theories off her, despite her not knowing what he was saying.

Noah sat in the kitchen reading another medical text he had acquired from a library. This one focused more on the human brain. Noah had come up with a theory on The Infected. The Undead. It was clear that everyone was Infected, even himself. What he wanted to figure out was why his father, who he knew for a fact didn't suffer enough head trauma to prevent reanimation, didn't come back.

When the Asian woman, Ming, was well enough to take care of herself, Noah had left her at the house, coming back about a week later. He had returned with his father's severed head, which still did reanimate. Ming screamed at first, scared of the severed head, most likely wondering why Noah would have one with him. He calmed her down, trying to get it through to her that he was a doctor.

Noah had examined his father's brain, carefully cracking open the skull, so he could inspect the brain and any abnormalities it contained. Sadly, the brain had decomposed far too much to give him any worthwhile data, but he still jotted down everything he could find.

His father's brain had not suffered any damage, meaning he should have reanimated. But he didn't. If Noah could figure out why, then he could maybe prevent others from reanimating.

Noah recalled his father's surgery, how he had suffered a brain tumor earlier in life. He was forced to get a lobotomy, a large piece of his lower brain being removed to prevent his death. Noah's theory was that the part that was removed was the part that reanimated the bodies, or at the very least allowed it to reanimate.

Sadly, Noah did not know the specifics of his father's surgery. Not only that, but his expertise wasn't in brain surgery; his was in infectious diseases and psychiatry. He would have to experiment with some of the Undead, and in the future humans, if he ever wished to get some real results.

"Noah." Noah looked up from his book to see Ming, holding onto the doorway for balance. "Help."  
Noah closed his book and put it on the table. Standing up, he walked up to Ming, shouldering her. "What's the matter?" Noah asked.

"Thanks you," Ming told him. "Everything."

"It's nothing," Noah told her. "I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to help." He knew she probably didn't understand everything he said, but it was nice talking to someone.

"Thanks you," she said. Noah was about to respond again, when he felt Ming's lips on his own. He was shocked at first, but soon kissed back. It had been months since he had any kind of human contact. He pulled back to get some air, looking Ming in the eyes. Ming leaned forward again to kiss him, pushing him back against the floor.

* * *

Noah woke up, blinking his eyes to clear his vision. He stood up in the bed, trying his best not to disturb the sleeping Ming. He looked at her sleeping form; it was the first time since he had met her that she actually looked be in a peaceful sleep.

He didn't remember how they ended up in Ming's room, but he didn't really mind. He had given her his old room, the more comfortable one.

Noah wasn't sure if what she felt for him was real, if she was trying to thank him, if it was just to relieve stress, or if she was experiencing transference. Whatever it was, it was helping her now, and he supposed that it was good for her. For both of them.

Noah remembered the first time he had sex; it was with his friend from med school. She had asked him to tutor her, and she ended up seducing him. He was nervous at first; he wasn't used to sexual relations of any kind. He was never interested in sex, pleasure, or anything of the kind. He was never a sexual person.

Noah slowly and carefully got off the bed, climbing over the sleeping Ming. He was careful not to wake her up, knowing the sleep would be good for her. He couldn't help but wonder what she dreaming about. He noticed she had a smile on her face, something he hadn't seen on her since he met her.

Noah walked out of the room, picking up his pants and shirt as he left. Putting the clothes back on, he walked to the stairs; he had cleared out a room to use as a lab, placing his father's severed inside. He walked up the stairs, heading for the last room in the house.

He entered the room, finding his father's head where he left it; on one of the tables in the room, under a clear glass container. On the table across from his father's head was another severed head, though this one was still moving; it was the head of one of The Undead. The Undead looked at Noah, snapping it's mouth at him.

Noah walked to his makeshift operation table, setting up everything he would need for his operation. He set up a video camera, so he could record his progress, as well as a voice recorder, to help take notes. He set up the tools he would use on the table, as well as a notebook and pen, to take notes on paper, and a textbook on human brains to help.

Noah then walked to the front door, and reached for the small dresser next to it. He opened it, taking out his work gloves, putting them on so he could start his experiments. Walking up to the encased Undead, Noah lifted up the glass protecting it, grabbing it by it's long, filthy hair.

Placing the head on another table, Noah began his operation. He began by exposing the brain of the Undead, making sure the creature was still active. He then began removing pieces of the Undead's brain, taking notes of which parts he removed, which parts were even active.

Noah removed sections of the brain one by one, explaining what he was doing as he did so. If something should ever happen to him, then the information he gained from these experiments would be worthless. If worse came to worse, then at least his newly gained knowledge was recorded.

Noah checked on the Undead every time he removed a section of the brain, seeing that the creature was still active. He had guessed that the creature wouldn't be any different until he reached the lower brain functions, and it seemed he was right.

Noah removed another section of brain, and came across a small, barely pulsing piece of brain. He quickly took notes of the section of brain it was located in. Noah took a scalpel and slowly brought it to the pulsing piece of brain. He began cutting into the brain. Within a minute, the Undead ceased moving. It was dead.

Noah recorded the information he had gathered. He had determined which part of the brain actually comes back. He would have to perform several more experiments, to confirm his findings, but for now, his work was done.

Noah backed away from the head, removing his gloves as he did so. He then walked to his father's head. He had begun a process that would preserve his father's remains, so he may use them in the future if need be.

Noah looked at his father, and for some reason recalled the first autopsy he had performed. It was on one of fifteen cadavers his university had supplied him and his class with. He had been paired up with MacMyers, with whom he constantly competed against in grades. Noah always beat him in the end, and he wouldn't lie, it was funny seeing MacMyers' stressing out over not being the best. He had heard he was always the smartest person in his classes, up until he met Noah.

Shaking off the memories of his former rival, Noah threw his gloves on the table where the Undead's head once was. He looked at the empty glass. He would need another head.

* * *

_I'm trying to figure out who I should do next. Not Jake. I'm thinking Kevin. Or maybe the evil guy from Ashley's story. I want to add some evil characters. What do you think?_


	9. Kevin 2

_Here's Kevin 2. I like Kevin a lot. He's easy to write for some reason, but at the same time, it's hard. Anyways, in this chapter, Kevin does some things. As do other characters. Anyways, on with the chapter._

* * *

**Kevin**

Kevin counted the rounds he had left for his rifle. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. He counted again. And again. And again. AND AGAIN!

He was supposed to have ten rounds left for the rifle, but he counted only NINE! Not only were they missing a rifle round, but they also missing a handgun, a rifle, a few cans of food, and even a jug of bleach, which Kevin could not understand. Why would anyone need a jug of bleach!?

Kevin breathed in and out, trying to calm himself. He stood up, putting his rifle behind him with it's strap, and walked outside. He saw Nathan standing outside, looking at a Walker in the street. It didn't seem to notice him, until Kevin opened the door, making the annoying squeaking sound that old doors made. The Walker looked towards Kevin, and began walking towards him, ignoring Nathan, walking passed him.

Kevin pulled his knife from his foot strap, waiting for the undead creature to come closer. When it came close to him, Kevin grabbed the back of it's head, and stabbed it through the eye, killing it. He held the dead Walker, bringing to the ground as carefully as possible.

"What're you doing out here?" Kevin asked, carefully walking over the dead Walker.

"Entertaining myself," Nathan answered. "Nothing else to do."

"We could talk."

"I'd rather not," Nathan said. "You always bring up those Asian people."

"You made me kill one of them!" Kevin told him. "I need to talk about it!"

"You didn't even know them!" Nathan laughed. "Why should you care?"

Kevin clenched his fist in anger. "I killed a man. I've never done anything like that before."

"You kill Walkers almost everyday," Nathan told him. "You should be used to killing by now."

"Walker and people aren't the same thing!" Kevin yelled. He walked over to Kevin, looking him dead in the eyes. "Why can't you get that through your thick skull!"

Nathan looked back at him with cold, detached eyes. "Look, what happened, happened. You can't change it. So just get over it."

Kevin knew there was some truth in words. He couldn't change what happened, and letting it destroy him wouldn't help anyone. But he couldn't help it. It was like hitting a dog that just ran out into the street; you still felt bad, no matter what anyone said.

"I think we should leave this place," Nathan said, walking behind Kevin, grabbing his shoulder and guiding him to the street. "This place will make you keep thinking about that day. We need a change of venue."

"I don't know," Kevin replied. "I mean, we're doing pretty good here, aside from the missing things. Not that many Walkers. Enough small animals for us to hunt. Place is defendable-"

"This place is giving you nightmares," Nathan interrupted. "We should pack up and move on."  
Kevin looked down at the cement street. "I supposed you're right." He looked at the woods to his left. "You pack up; I'm gonna see if I can find anything to hunt. Maybe I can catch a squirrel or something."

"Sure." Nathan walked off. "By the way, did you ever find that rifle round?"

"No, never." Kevin began walking towards the forest, when he stopped, and began wondering how he knew a round was missing; he only just found out this morning. "How'd you know a round was missing?" He turned around to look at Nathan, but found him gone. Kevin shook his head, deciding to ask him about it later, and walked towards the forest.

* * *

Kevin took deliberate steps as he walked in the forest. He avoided the woods and crumbled leaves, trying to be as silent as possible. He had already caught two squirrels and a bird, carrying them in one of the plastic bags he always kept in his pocket; he used to have a dog, and would keep the bags so he could pick up after him. He missed that old dog; it was killed in the first days.

He didn't know until the dead came back, since he never used a gun beforehand, but it turned out he was a natural marksman. He couldn't remember ever using any type of gun before in his life

Kevin recounted how many rounds he had left. He had nine, and fired three. That left six. Kevin continued looking for anything he could kill and eat. They had only a few canned goods left, and they would want to save that for as long as possible. He looked around for anything else he could get, when he saw a rabbit. It was below him, about ten feet down.

Kevin aimed his rifle at the critter, lining up his shot. When he had it in his sights, he took a breath, about to fire, when something else hit it. He lowered his rifle, and ran to a tree, hiding behind it just in case the shooter wasn't friendly. He looked at the dying rabbit, seeing what looked like a plastic shaft sticking out of it's side.

He felt bad for the critter, dying like that. He stayed silent until he saw a young child, perhaps five or six, walking up to the rabbit, holding what looked to be a mini crossbow, a small backpack on his back. An older boy was with him, walking closely behind him, holding a rifle. He also had a large, grey bag on his back. It was weighted on the bottom, yet light at the top.

"Nice shot, Nicholas," the older boy said. He took a small pocket-knife out of his pocket, holding it out to the child. "Finish it."

"Okay," the boy, Nicholas, said. Taking the knife, the boy opened it, and got down to his knees. He brought the knife to the air, and stabbed the rabbit in the head, killing the pained critter. He then stood up.

"See?" the older boy asked. "It's like I said; it get's easier."

"I still don't like it," Nicholas said. "Parker why do..." The boy breathed a heavy breath. He seemed to have some kind of condition. "we have to hunt. We have lots of ... cans in the bag."

"Because the canned stuff will last longer," the older boy, Parker, told him. "I know you don't like killing, but it's something we have to do. You understand?"

"I guess," Nicholas said sullenly. The boy looked at the dead critter, and got back on his knees, removing his backpack and opening it up. He then picked up the dead critter, putting it inside the bag. He then zipped it shut, and put the bag back on.

"_What's going on?"_ Kevin jumped slightly at the sound of someone talking. He looked at the person who spoke, seeing Nathan crouching behind him.

_"What're you doing here?"_ Kevin whispered back angrily. _"I told you to pack up!"_  
_ "I got worried. You were gone so long."_

_ "Just keep quiet!"_ Kevin told him. He looked at the two kids, wondering who they were. He thought about going over to them, but was worried they might be hostile.

_"Hey, I know those two!"_ Nathan whispered into Kevin's ear. _"I've seen those two sneaking around the station!"_

_"You have?!"_ Kevin asked. _"Why didn't you say anything?"_

_"I didn't think it mattered,"_ he replied. His eyes widened, as if something dawned on him. _"They must be the ones stealing our stuff!" _

_ "Them?"_ Kevin asked. He shook his head in frustration. _"Forget it, let's just get out of here." _Kevin backed away, heading back to the gas station.

_"What d'you mean 'forget it'?" _Nathan asked. _"We need to deal with them!"_

_"Do you hear yourself?" _Kevin asked back. _"What do you wanna do? Kill them?"_

_"Yes! They're stealing our stuff! That's the same as killing us!"_

_"We are not killing a couple of kids!" _Kevin told him. _"What is WRONG with you?!"_

_"I'm telling you, we should-"_

_"NO!" _Kevin told him firmly. _"We're leaving. NOW!" _Kevin walked away from Nathan, staying crouched to avoid being seen. He left Nathan behind, hoping he wouldn't do anything stupid.

* * *

Kevin walked into the gas station, seeing that Nathan had not done as he told him to. Nothing was packed up, everything was still where he left it. He sighed in annoyance. Nathan was the one who insisted upon leaving, and yet he neglected to even pack.

He wondered when Nathan would come in. He didn't speak a word to him while walking back to the station. He could hear him quietly trudging behind him. He was obviously mad at him.

Kevin went back to his room, sitting on his mattress and putting his bag of critters down. He then inspected his rifle, emptying out the chamber and taking out the bullets to count them again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He must have miscounted. He had nine bullets when he left. He fired three. He should have six. He counted again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

One. Two. Three. Four. FIVE!

* * *

_So, does anyone have suggestions as to who I should next? I'm thinking of my evil character, or maybe another Jake chapter. Or Parker. Give me your opinion. Remember to leave a review!  
_


	10. Jake 3

_I got a review requesting another Jake. So, here it is.  
_

* * *

**Jake**

Two days have passed since Jake rescued the newborn, Adam, from being taken by the stranger in the woods. In his hurry to escape the undead, he had luckily come across a cabin surrounded by military vehicles. Having gone inside to seek help, he was met with the reanimated corpses of the soldiers who were there before. With no place else to go, the outside being swarmed with Walkers, and the first level of the cabin containing Walkers, he retreated to the second level, which was isolated due to the destruction of the stairs.

Once upstairs, he cleared the second level, making sure no Walkers or other hostiles were there. Instead of finding Walkers, he was amazed to see a large stockpile of supplies; food, water, guns, ammo, gasoline, medical supplies, and a myriad of other useful supplies. Since his entering the home, he had systematically killed all the Walkers on the lower level, and had regained access to the first level.

For now, Jake stayed upstairs, tending to the newborn, making sure he was fed and changed, clean and healthy. The baby's mother, whose name Jake did not know, had collected enough baby supplies to last at least a month, a month in a half if Jake rationed the supplies.

Jake was now in the supply room, cataloging everything he had stumbled across while Adam was sleeping in the next room. So far he had counted over 100 cans of food, 62 bottles of water, both unopened and refilled, and six bags of medical supplies, including bandages, tape, stitching tools, even antibiotics.

Jake finished counting the last of the antibiotics; altogether, he had twenty-seven different regimens, from weak to powerful. He next went over to the jugs of gasoline, and sat down in front of them. There were seven in all. He had not yet seen how much gas there was in the jugs, but hoped there was plenty. He grabbed the jug closest to him, finding it to be empty. He sighed in annoyance, putting it behind him.

Reaching for the next jug, he was glad to see that it was heavy, full to the top. He opened the top, and smelled the inside of it. It wreaked of gasoline. He closed the jug, and wrote down how much was in the jug, and pushed it to the side. He grabbed the next jug; this one wasn't as full as the other, but still had a good amount, at least 3/4 of the way full. He opened it, to see if the contents were really gasoline. He took a sniff; it was gasoline.

Jake remembered back a few months. After he lost his brother, Jake had found a car, but had needed gasoline to drive it. He risked his life to acquire a jug that someone had dropped in the street. Imagine his surprise when he tried filling up the car, only to find water, not gasoline, pouring out the jug. He ended up abandoning the car and losing the water.

After checking the sixth jug, this one also containing gasoline, he went to check the seventh. He stopped when he heard the baby crying.

Jake stood up and exited the room. He headed to the room he and the baby had been staying in, finding him crying on the crouch. He went to Adam, picking him up as carefully as possible. He knew how to take care of a crying baby; he had help raise his baby brother, bathing him, changing him, feeding him. He knew how to take care of baby.

Jake remembered his older brother, and wondered if he was still alive. He hoped he was. Maybe he was traveling, like him, just trying to survive. He wanted to say to himself that his older brother was alive, that they would meet one day in the future, be reunited, but he didn't. Partially because he didn't believe it would happen. Partially because he didn't want to sound cheesy.

Even if he did find him, he didn't know if he could face him. He was supposed to protect their baby brother, and he failed. Part of him never wanted to see him again, so he wouldn't have to look him in the eyes. Tell him how he failed.

Pushing his brothers out of his mind, Jake walked over to the baby bag he had taken from Adam's mother. It was a good thing she had that bag; while the supplies that Jake stumbled upon were a godsend for him, they wouldn't do much good for a newborn baby. There was no formula, no diapers, no wipes. Nothing for babies.

He picked it up and brought it to the couch. He sat down, and began rummaging through the bag with his free hand. He took out a baby bottle, one the newborn started on, but had not yet finished. He brought the nipple to Adam's mouth, who immediately began suckling.

Jake watched as Adam drank from the bottle. He could feel a tear rolling down his cheek as he remembered feeding his baby brother. He could feel his hands began to shake from thinking about it. "You know," Jake said softly, "I had baby brother. He's gone now. In a better place, I think."

Adam didn't respond, though Jake didn't expect him to. "My father died about ten years ago. I was thirteen then. My mother died five years ago. March 31st, 2006. Died giving birth to-" Jake stopped. He tried saying his brothers name again, but found himself unable to do so.

Jake felt the bottle being pushed away, and looked down at Adam. The bottle was empty, Adam probably annoyed at sucking and not getting anything.

Jake put the bottle aside and lifted the baby to his shoulder. He began patting his back. As he patted him, he wondered why he couldn't say his baby brother's name. He tried to remember when he last said his name. It was the day he died.

He heard Adam burp, then gently rocked him back and forth. He wanted him to fall asleep, so he could get back to work finding out what he had. For now, he rocked the baby gently. He recalled a lullaby he would sing to his brother, in order to help him get to sleep.

_"Hush little baby, don't you fear."_  
_ "You have your big brother right here."_  
_ "I will protect you, here on out."_  
_ "Now please, be quiet and don't pout."_

When he finished singing, he looked at Adam, finding him to be fast asleep. Jake smiled, and stood up. He placed the sleeping baby back on the couch, then backed away silently. He felt another tear rolling down his cheek, and wiped it away. He walked out of the room, the smile fading away.

Jake walked back to the supply room, and sat back down in front of the jugs of gas. He looked at his book. 188 gallons. That's how much gasoline he had. He grabbed the last jug. This one was full as well. He opened the top, and took a sniff. It was gasoline. It was strange. For some reason, he expected to find water in that last jug.

* * *

_Please leave a review. I mean it. It helps. It's not very helpful when you don't get any reviews. _


	11. Dexter 2

_Here's Dexter 2. I'm sorry for the late update. This is very hard to do. I recently got a review from someone named Kitanna, asking if I would mind them turning my fanfic into a movie. Maybe post it on Youtube, and if it's good enough, submit it to a film festival, so that kinda inspired me. If you're reading this Kitanna, please leave me your email, as I would love if you used my story in a movie.  
_

* * *

**Dexter**

Dexter looked around him, watching as men and women in military garbs hustled around the area. Several fences had been put around the perimeter, to help keep out intruders, or worse, the undead. Guards armed with high powered rifles kept guard.

It had been three days since his first encounter with the dead, three days since the incident with the hospital. The military base they were staying in right now wasn't a real base; it was actually just a large food store, converted into a makeshift base.

Dexter sat on a chair outside the tent he had been assigned to. Nineteen others had been assigned to the same tent, varying between men, women, and children. Families were kept together, at least the ones that weren't broken up by the dead.

The man Dexter came in with, Corporal Lewis, was going around handing out food to the refugees. Refugees. Dexter couldn't believe that he, as well as everybody else here, was now a refugee.

He was still in his new police uniform, and had been tasked with keeping order among the people. It was a lot easier than he thought it would be. The people didn't cause any ruckus, as they were too heart broken, scared, or both to do so. Only one person caused trouble, and he stopped when he saw Dexter, imposed by his large size and toned muscles. In his business, Dexter had to keep his physique.

"Officer Morgan." Dexter looked up to find Corporal Lewis. He held a hot dog in a bun in each hand. "Here; you should eat something."  
Dexter took the food with a small smile. "Thanks," he said. "Oh, and call me Dexter."

Corporal Lewis pulled a nearby chair next to Dexter, and sat down with him. "Alright. Then you call me Lewis."

"Sure."

The two men sat in silence, eating their hot dogs. Dexter enjoyed having the meat in his mouth; he hadn't eaten anything in three days. It wasn't that they didn't give him anything; he just couldn't eat.

Dexter was thankful to Lewis for bringing him along. He probably would have been killed by the monsters by now if it hadn't been for him.

"So," Lewis said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "how long have you been on the force?"

"What?" Dexter asked.

"The force; how long you been on it?"

"Oh, not long," Dexter responded awkwardly. "To be honest, I-"

Dexter was cut off by someone in military garbs, with two younger soldiers behind him, one a large, buff man, the other a woman. The man was old, maybe sixties or seventies, but still looked imposing. "Corporal!" he yelled. "What are you doing sitting on your ass?! We have dead at the front fences, west side, I want you to go and clear them up with Simmons and Scuitto. There's not too many, but be careful, and remember to keep it silent!"

The Corporal stood up immediately. "Yes sir!" He looked at the two young soldiers. "Follow me."

Dexter watched as Lewis hurried to the nearby fence, and leaving to deal with the dead. "Officer Morgan!"

Dexter looked up at the large, gray haired man. He could see that the man was proud of his accomplishments, from the numerous medals and awards he had on his breast. "Sir?"

"We have a chopper in bound with some survivors," he told him. "I want you to help get them situated into the camp. Now go!"

"Yes sir!" Dexter stood up as quick as he could. This guy scared him. He was always so loud and intimidating. Always so intense.

Dexter ran to the food store, telling the soldiers that guarded it his orders. They already knew he was helping around camp, so they didn't ask for I.D. or anything. He made it to the roof, looking for the others he was supposed to help.

"Morgan!" a voice called out. Dexter looked over and saw Doctor Maine. "Over here!" He hurried over to her, finding her standing with two other doctors, an old Indian man and a tall, skinny man with a cane, a police officer, heavy-set, black, and a soldier, who seemed to only be in his early twenties.

"Why are you up here?" Dexter asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied. She looked up at the sky, looking for the chopper. "The Lieutenant said there are wounded in the chopper, and that I should check on them before they're let into the main camp."  
"In case they're infected?"

"Yeah." Carolyn pointed towards the sky. "Here they come."

Dexter waited next to the good doctor, hearing the helicopter as it neared them. Dexter squinted, covering his eyes as the chopper landed. The helicopter blades slowed to a stop, and Dexter looked at the chopper. It was filled to the brim with people, soldiers hanging onto the sides, unable to fit in the chopper. The soldiers hopped off the chopper one by one, allowing the people deeper to get out.

"Alright," a soldier said, "civilians, you will disembark the chopper, in an orderly fashion. You will wait behind that red line, where a doctor will treat your wounds if you have any."

"Hello everybody. My name is Doctor Carolyn Maine," Carolyn told them as the civilians jumped off. "Please tell me if you have been hurt in any way."

"You do not have to worry," the soldier told them. "You are all safe here. Do not cause a fuss, or you _will_ disciplined."

Dexter watched as the people came to them, one by one, each with their own problems. Some lost family, friends, some were hurt, others were strangely good. Carolyn inspected each person as they came up to her, checking for any bites or scratches along with other wounds. If the person had a bite mark on them, they would be quarantined, and eventually killed.

"Alright, you can go, sweetie," Carolyn told a crying little girl, no more than six years old. Gauze and wrappings covered her right eye. Dexter wondered what had happened to her. "Sergeant Stucky, could you please take her to the medical tent?"

The soldier, Stucky, an older man, picked her up. "Where's my Mommy?" the girl asked. "I want my Mommy!"

Stucky just walked away with her, ignoring the girls pleading, avoiding her eyes. He seemed ashamed.

"Dexter?" Dexter looked back to the line, wondering who it was that wanted his attention. He was shocked when saw him. It was Senator Hugh Lincoln. "What are you doing here?"

"Huey?" Dexter asked. He looked at the handsome politician, happiness filling his body. He hadn't heard from the Senator in over two months, ever since their falling out, and here he was now, alive and well. "I can't believe you're alive!"

Dexter walked up and hugged the Senator as tightly as he could. He could still smell his expensive cologne on him. He let him go and looked at him. His hair was brown and greasy, probably from not showering in some days. His smile was still pearly white, and perfect, his eyes green as emeralds.

"Dad, who is this guy?" Dexter looked down to see the Senator's eleven year old son, Johnny. He looked like his father, only smaller and with long, black hair even greasier than his father's.

"This is Dexter," the Senator told him. "He's a ... good friend of mine."

"Are you a cop?" Johnny asked.

"Uh, yeah," Dexter told him. "I'm helping to keep the peace here."

"Cool." Johnny pointed to Dexter's gun. "Have you shot any of the monsters?"

Dexter knelt down to his eye level. "No, I haven't. I did get one, but I didn't use my gun."

"Wow, you must know karate or something!" the young boy said.

Dexter laughed at that. Huey had told him his son had a vivid imagination.

"Morgan." Dexter looked behind him. Doctor Maine looked annoyed. We have more people that need help. Catch up with them later."  
Dexter apologized to her, and looked to the senator and his son. "I'll find you later, alright?"

"Yeah, of course." Huey looked at him again, this time noticing his uniform. "You always did look good in that."

Huey and Johnny were escorted away by the police officer, while Dexter remained with Carolyn on the roof.

After all the people on the helicopter were cleared, Dexter returned to the tent he was assigned. When he got there, he saw Huey and Johnny, talking with Lewis and the police officer from the rooftop.

"-a good thing the military showed up, otherwise we'd be dead." Huey must have been explaining how he ended up on the chopper.

"Huey!" Dexter walked up to him.

"Hey, Dexter." The two hugged again. "I didn't expect to see you here. Not that I'm complaining."

"You two know each other?" the police officer asked. Dexter couldn't recall his name. Winslow, maybe.

"We're old friends," Huey told him.

"Don't think we've formally met yet," the cop said. "Name's Eddie Winslow." He extended his hand.

"Dexter Morgan," Dexter replied, taking the cops hand. He let go after a good shake.

"Good to see another cop in this place. Been wanting to talk to you for a while, but it seemed like you dealing with some rough stuff."

"Yeah. But I'm over it now," Dexter told him. "At least I hope I am."

"Well, I should go. I'm in another tent, and it's getting late." He checked his watch, a beautiful gold and blue one. "It's nearing seven 'o' clock. Curfew's gonna start soon. Nice talking with you."

Dexter watched the large cop walk out the tent, then turned his attention to Huey. "What about you?" he asked. "Which tent were you assigned?"

"Right here," he responded, widening his arms.

Johnny spoke up. "Dad asked them for a spot in this tent. Said he'd call it a personal favor."

"That's great!" Dexter said. "You can bunk with me."

"It's curfew time!" Dexter turned around to see the large military man from earlier. The man in charge. "Get to sleep everyone!"

"We should do as he says," Dexter said. "He's very strict."

With a small nod from Huey, Dexter walked him and Johnny over to his cot. The two lied down, and Dexter followed suit.

* * *

Dexter jerked awake to the sound an explosion. He stood up and got off his cot. Most of the people in the tent had woken up as well, including Huey and Johnny. "Dad, what was that!?" Johnny cried. Now he could hear gunfire. A lot of it.

"I don't know, son." He grabbed his son's head and began rubbing it, pulling him to his chest to comfort him. "I'm sure it's fine. The military will protect us."  
Dexter looked around. Everyone stayed in their cots, too afraid to leave the tent, himself included. One of the people, an older man, maybe mid-fifties, turned around to look at Dexter. "Go look outside!" he told him.

"Why me?!" Dexter asked.

"It's your job! Protect and Serve!" the old replied.

Dexter looked down at himself. He was still in his uniform, of course they would look to him for help. Dexter took a deep breath, and stood up. "Everyone stay quiet," Dexter said, trying to be loud enough to hear, but low enough to avoid anything from outside hearing him.

"Dexter!" he turned around. It was Huey. "Please come back safe."

"I will." Dexter walked off without another word, afraid he had lied to him.

Dexter exited the tent and looked around. It was night, very dark, the moon shining overhead in a crescent shape. Some others had been brave enough to leave their tents, though they still shook with fear. Dexter listened to the gunfire, and followed the sound. He followed the sounds, realizing they were coming from the fences. He turned a corner, and paled at the sight, frozen in place.

Soldiers were firing their weapons at the undead, who had somehow broken through the fence. A large section of the fence was knocked over, where Dexter saw the undead eating a dead soldier, the one called Scuito. Her body was destroyed, three of her limbs missing, her legs and her right arm, her face burned and shredded.

Several of the undead lumbered towards Dexter. He couldn't move, fear overtaking him. One of the undead fell to the ground, dead, blood spattering onto the ones behind it. The rest soon followed suit.

Dexter felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Lewis, a large machine gun in his hands. He seemed to be yelling at him, but everything sounded dull, and he looked as if he was speaking in slow motion.

All of a sudden, everything was normal. "DEXTER! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

"What happened?" he asked, his voice cracking a bit. "How did this happen?"

"I'll tell you later, now move!" Lewis pulled him away from the battle. He lead him to the flag pole in front of one of the tents, a lever built into it's side. The military had set up a siren on the flag pole, in case the area was compromised. He pulled on the lever, turning the siren on.

"Where are we evacuating?!" Dexter asked loudly, trying to talk over the blaring siren.

"We're not!" Lewis told him, also yellin . "There's no evac! No one's coming for us!"

"You mean they're leaving us here?!"

"There's no one coming because there's no one left!" Lewis told him. Dexter tried to digest what Lewis had just told him. People ran out of their tents, to check on the situation. "THE DEAD HAVE BROKEN THROUGH! EVERYONE RUN! IT'S NO LONGER SAFE HERE!"

Dexter watched as everybody began panicking. Some people stood in place, not able to move. Others ran back into their tents, while most ran away. Dexter then thought of Huey and Johnny. They were still back in the tent!

"We have to find Huey!" Dexter told Lewis.

"Go!" Lewis said. "I gotta get back to the dead! Hold them off the civilians!" He reached to his side, unholstering his sidearm, a handgun, and handed it to Dexter, as well as key. "Take my jeep and get out of here!"

Before Dexter could say a word, Lewis ran off, heading back to the breached fence. He fired his gun at the undead monsters, killing the ones closest to the people. He disappeared from sight, and Dexter turned around, hoping to find Huey alive.

He ran to his tent, which was almost completely empty. Except for Huey and Johnny. "Huey!" Dexter yelled. He ran over to them. "We have to go! The fence is down, and those things are all over the place!"

"What are we gonna do?" Huey asked.

"We're getting the hell out of here!" Dexter told him.

"But what about the soldiers?" Johnny asked.

"They're trying to hold them off," Dexter told him. "But they can't do it forever. Now let's go!"

Dexter led the two out of the tent, and headed for the vehicles. He could see people trying to force themselves into the overpacked store as he passed them, hoping the cement walls would protect them from the hoards of undead.

As they ran passed the tents, Dexter slowed when he saw Carolyn, the doctor he had come here with. She was on the ground, one of the undead on top of her, trying to bite her. Dexter ran over to her and grabbed the undead monster, using all of his strength to pull it off the young doctor. It surprised him how strong these things were.

Carolyn backed away, and stood up, crying in fear. The monster struggled in Dexter's grip, when a bang went off and the monster wen limp, a hole in it's head. Dexter let go of the creature, and looked to the man who shot it. It was Eddie Winslow, the cop from last night. His arms and shoulders were bleeding.

"You're bit," Carolyn said.

"Yeah, I know." Eddie aimed his gun in another direction, firing off a few more shots. "I know what happens. I'm dead. Just go and get the hell out of here."

"I'm sorry," Dexter told him.

"GO!"

Dexter ran off, leading Huey, Johnny, and Carolyn to the vehicles. When they arrived, they saw the dead and the soldiers fighting. Some of the soldiers left in the vehicles, while others tried to fight the monsters.

Dexter saw Lewis' jeep, surrounded by several undead, with one soldier trying to keep them out of the vehicle. It was the soldier who carried the little girl with one eye, Stucky. Dexter ran over to help, but was too late; one of the undead had reached from behind him sunk it's into his neck, blood spurting from the wound. Dexter felt sick to his stomach when he realized it was the little girl who bit him.

Dexter ran to the monsters, putting his gun to back of the first one's head and firing a shot. He'd never fired a gun before, and didn't expect it to kick back so hard. The other monsters lunged toward him, but were stopped by Huey and Carolyn, who tripped the monsters with their own clumsy feet, and stomping on the heads.

Dexter looked at the soldier, Stucky. He was still alive, and had forced the girl off of him, throwing her to the ground. He stomped on her face, crushing the once innocent girls head beneath his boot. A moment later, he went to the jeep, and pulled out a rifle. He cocked it, put the barrel under his chin, and fired, killing himself.

With no time to mourn the young soldier, Dexter hopped in the jeep, putting the key in the ignition and starting it up. The others hopped into the jeep, along with a few other soldiers, who saw Dexter had gotten the jeep started.

Dexter put his foot on the gas, driving away from the fallen camp. As he got further away from the camp, he saw the horde of undead in front of him. There were hundreds, of walking corpses, all barreling towards them.

"Drive through them!" one of the soldiers told him. "There's no other way to go!"  
Listening to the soldier, Dexter forced his foot into the gas as hard as he could, getting ready to plow through the horde, praying no one would die doing so.

"Everyone hold on tight!" he yelled.

"Keep your head down, Johnny!" Dexter heard Huey tell his son.

Dexter could feel every body he hit, and even felt cold, dead hands on his forearm as he drove, the dead trying to grab at him. He could hear the soliders firing their weapons, trying to prevent the dead from pulling them out, as well as screams as some people were most likely pulled from the jeep, to be devoured by the dead.

Eventually they made it through the horde, though Dexter didn't know how. He continued driving, avoiding the dead as much as possible. He didn't see any signs of life, no soldiers, no refugees, no one. Only the dead.

"There's a gas station up ahead," one of the soldiers told him. "There might still be some fuel."

"Alright, I'll stop."

Dexter slowed the jeep to a stop, and turned off the ignition. The soldiers all hopped out, and entered the gas station to look for supplies.

"You okay, Huey?" Dexter asked. He didn't get an answer, so he decided to look back at him. "Huey, are you oka-?"

He stopped mid-sentence. Huey wasn't there. Neither was Carolyn. Only Johnny, who sat on the seat in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. "The monsters got my Dad," he told Dexter. "And the lady, too. I heard them screaming."

Dexter looked at the young boy, not fully processing what he had just heard. Those screams he heard, they weren't those of the soldiers. They were of Carolyn. And Huey.

* * *

_And so ends Dexter 2. Once again, Kitanna, if you're reading this, please give me your contact information. I would love to help in any way I can._


End file.
